Every significant other knows what the topic of this post means. There are things you don’t do when it comes to the person you care about. Doing those things is tantamount to romantic suicide.
When it comes to me, you don’t call me paranoid. I associate that word with the phrase “paranoid schizophrenic” which was a phrase used to describe one of my relatives before he shot himself. It’s also been used to describe another relative who locks himself in his house and won’t go outside. I do wish he would email me, when we were kids, he was an awesome person to be around.
Another thing you just don’t call me is fat. I spent the whole of my 13th year on this earth being berated, belittled and otherwise endlessly teased about my weight.
Now that I’ve put it into perspective, you can probably see why this would be a huge relationship faux pas, but if you didn’t have that perspective, how innocuous does that word seem to be? How innocent and lacking in offense?
You never know.
I find it fascinating how our minds associate words with things that have such powerful impacts upon us. If I were to say, “yellow” what would you think of?
I’m a self-centered person. I’ve learned to be that way out of self-defense. My whole life, I have surrounded myself with people who are self-centered, who think of themselves first who assume that I get upset because of something someone else did, not because of something they might have done to me.
I’m tired of being like that. I’m extremely tired of defending myself against perfect, pristine ghosts. I get even more tired of being the only person in the world that does everything wrong.
Long ago, I accepted that I am not perfect, that I do do things wrong. It really sucks when people go and rub that in your face when you’ve long since known the truth about yourself.
The truth about ourselves.. now there’s a deep thought. That’s something we hide from everyone, even the people we claim to love. Why do we hide it? Is it out of fear?
